Deținută de diavol

Chapter One

The body lay in perfect repose on the Victorian fainting couch, looking more like a sleeping beauty than a victim. Detective Sarah Chen had seen enough death in her ten years with the Metropolitan Police's Special Cases Unit to know that natural death never looked this peaceful. Something was very, very wrong.

        'No signs of struggle, no marks on the body, and yet...' She leaned closer, studying the victim's face. Charlotte Mills, aged 28, was found by her roommate this morning, apparently having passed away in her sleep. Her expression was serene, almost blissful, but her eyes - those were what caught Sarah's attention. Behind the closed lids, her eyes were moving rapidly, as if still deep in REM sleep.

        "You see it too, don't you?" The voice came from behind her, rich and cultured with a slight Irish lilt. "She's still dreaming."

        Sarah turned to find a tall man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit standing in the doorway. He hadn't been there a moment ago, she was certain of it. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, and his eyes were an unusual shade of amber that seemed to shift color in the light.

        "This is a closed crime scene," she said firmly, her hand instinctively moving toward her weapon. "How did you get in here?"

        He smiled, but it didn't reach those strange eyes. "Dr. Marcus Thorne," he said, pulling out a card that somehow both looked official and seemed to shimmer slightly. "I'm a consulting specialist with the Department's new Oneiric Phenomena Division."

        "The what division?" Sarah frowned, taking the card. The moment her fingers touched it, she felt a slight electric tingle, and the letters seemed to rearrange themselves before her eyes.

        "Dreams, Detective Chen. We investigate crimes involving dreams." He moved into the room with fluid grace, his attention fixed on the victim. "And this is the third one this month."

        Sarah's mind raced. There had been two other deaths recently - both young women, both found peacefully dead in their sleep. She'd seen the reports but hadn't made the connection until now. "How do you know about those cases?"

        "Because I've been tracking the killer for quite some time." Thorne knelt beside the body, his eyes now definitely more gold than amber. "He's what we call a Dream Collector - someone who has learned to enter and steal dreams. But this one has developed a taste for more than just dreams. He's taking souls."

        Under normal circumstances, Sarah would have dismissed such talk as nonsense. But there was something about the scene, about the victim's still-moving eyes, about Thorne himself, that made the impossible seem suddenly plausible.

        "If you're tracking him," she said carefully, "why haven't you caught him?"

        Thorne's expression darkened. "Because he only appears in dreams. The physical world is my domain, but his... his is the realm of sleep. To catch him, we need someone who can walk between both worlds." He turned those unsettling eyes on her. "Someone like you."

        "Me?" Sarah almost laughed, but the sound died in her throat as memories she'd long suppressed began to surface. The dreams that felt too real, the nights she'd awakened to find objects moved in her room, the way she sometimes knew things she couldn't possibly know...

        "You've always known you were different, haven't you, Detective?" Thorne's voice was gentle now. "The dreams that come true, the hunches that turn out to be right, the way you can sometimes see how people died just by touching objects they owned..."

        Sarah took an involuntary step back. "How do you know about that?"

        "Because I've been looking for someone like you. A Natural - someone born with the ability to cross the threshold between waking and dreaming." He gestured to the victim. "Charlotte here won't be his last. There will be others, and their souls will remain trapped in an eternal dream unless we stop him."

        Just then, the victim's hand twitched, her fingers moving as if writing something. Sarah moved closer, watching as invisible words were traced in the air. Thorne pulled out what looked like an antique monocle and held it up. Through its lens, golden letters shimmered in the air where Charlotte's fingers moved.

        "Help me," Thorne read aloud. "He's coming for the others."

        Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. She looked at the victim's peaceful face, at those restlessly moving eyes, and made a decision that would change her life forever.

        "Tell me what I need to do."

        Thorne's smile was grim. "First, you need to learn to control your abilities. Then..." he held up the monocle, through which Sarah could now see strange symbols glowing all around the room, "you need to learn to hunt in dreams."

        Outside the Victorian townhouse, storm clouds gathered, and Sarah Chen, homicide detective and newly discovered dream walker, took her first step into a world where nightmares were real, and death was just another kind of sleep.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Three

They arrived at St. Bartholomew's Hospital just as the emergency lights began to flash. Sarah followed Thorne through corridors that seemed to blur at the edges of her vision, her new badge somehow clearing their path without ever being shown.

        "Room 307," Thorne said, his voice tight with urgency. "Young male, admitted for minor surgery, slipped into an unusual coma during recovery."

        The patient, David Parker, age 23, lay perfectly still on his hospital bed, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids. Just like Charlotte Mills. But this time, something was different - the air around him rippled like heat waves over hot asphalt.

        "He's still in the process of taking him," Thorne said, pulling out what looked like an antique pocket watch. "We can follow if we're quick. Are you ready for your first dream dive?"

        Sarah's heart pounded. "What do I need to do?"

        "Take my hand. Focus on the patient. Let your consciousness slip between the moments of reality." Thorne's eyes began to glow that strange amber color. "And whatever you see in there, remember - dream logic is real logic in that world."

        Sarah grasped Thorne's hand and looked at David Parker. The world tilted, twisted, and suddenly...

        They were standing in a hospital corridor that wasn't quite right. The walls breathed slowly, the floor was made of flowing water that somehow supported their weight, and the ceiling was a swirling mass of constellation maps.

        "His dreamscape," Thorne explained, his voice echoing strangely. "Every dreamer creates their own reality. Look."

        Down the impossible corridor, a figure in a doctor's coat was leading David Parker by the hand. But the 'doctor' was wrong - his shadow moved independently, reaching out with grasping tendrils towards other dreams that floated past like soap bubbles.

        "The Dream Collector," Sarah whispered.

        As if hearing his name, the figure turned. Sarah's breath caught. His face was a beautiful mask of shifting features, never settling on one form, but his eyes... his eyes were endless pits of swirling dreams.

        "Ah, the new dreamer," his voice was like silk over broken glass. "And my old friend Marcus. Still trying to police the dream worlds?"

        Thorne stepped forward, and Sarah noticed his appearance had changed in the dream. His suit was now made of living shadows, and wings of dark light stretched from his shoulders. "Let him go, Collector. You've taken enough souls."

        The Collector laughed, the sound causing the hospital walls to crack, leaking golden dream-light. "Taken? Oh, Marcus, you still don't understand. They give themselves to me. Show her, David."

        The young man turned, and Sarah saw his eyes were glassy with bliss. "It's beautiful here," he said dreamily. "All my pain is gone. All my fears. He takes them all away."

        "By taking everything you are," Sarah found herself saying. She took a step forward, instinctively reaching for her police badge. In the dream, it transformed into a shield of pure light. "David, this isn't real healing. It's theft."

        The Collector's face rippled with anger. "You dare interrupt my collection?" The corridor began to twist, reality bending around them. "Let me show you what happens to those who interfere with my work."

        Suddenly, the floor beneath Sarah liquefied completely. She started to sink, but instead of water, she was drowning in dreams - thousands of them, each containing a fragment of someone's stolen soul. She saw Charlotte Mills dancing endlessly in a ballroom of mirrors, saw other victims trapped in perfect moments that had become eternal prisons.

        "Sarah!" Thorne's voice cut through the chaos. "Remember - dream logic! Make your own rules!"

        Dream logic. Sarah closed her eyes, focusing on her years of police work, of protecting people, of solving puzzles. When she opened them, her badge-shield had transformed into a sword of pure thought.

        With a cry, she slashed through the dream-flood. Reality reasserted itself - or at least, this dream's version of reality. She stood on solid ground again, facing the Collector.

        "Impressive," he purred, but she sensed uncertainty in his voice. "You're stronger than the usual dreamers Marcus recruits. Perhaps we could make a deal..."

        "No deals," Sarah said firmly. She could feel her power growing, reshaping the dream around them. "David, look at what he really is. Look with your heart, not your fears."

        For a moment, David's eyes cleared. The Collector's beautiful mask slipped, revealing something ancient and hungry beneath. David screamed, pulling away from the creature's grasp.

        The Collector snarled, his form shifting into something monstrous. "If I can't have him willingly..." Shadows exploded from his body, reaching for David.

        What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. Thorne spread his dark wings, shielding David. Sarah's sword of thought became a net of light, trapping some of the shadows. But the Collector himself simply... stepped sideways, vanishing into a door that appeared in the air.

        "Sweet dreams, detectives," his voice lingered behind. "We'll meet again soon. After all, Sarah, your dreams are particularly... appetizing."

        The dreamscape began to dissolve. Sarah felt Thorne grab her arm, pulling her back through layers of reality. Then...

        They were standing in the hospital room again. David Parker was awake, gasping, but alive and whole. A nurse was rushing in, responding to his sudden revival.

        "We saved one," Thorne said quietly. "But he'll be angry now. And he'll come for you."

        Sarah touched her badge, still feeling echoes of its dream-power. "Good," she said grimly. "Because I have some questions for him about Charlotte Mills. And about what you really are, Marcus Thorne."

        Thorne's expression was unreadable. "All in time, Detective. For now, you need to rest. Tomorrow, your real training begins."

        As they left the hospital, Sarah could have sworn she saw her shadow move independently, reaching for dreams that floated just beyond the edge of sight. The world would never look quite the same again.

Chapter Four

Sarah's apartment looked different when she returned that night. The shadows seemed deeper, more alive, and ordinary objects cast reflections that didn't quite match reality. The dreamcatcher Thorne had given her pulsed softly in her pocket, responding to the changed way she now saw the world.

        She was exhausted but afraid to sleep. The Collector's words echoed in her mind: 'Your dreams are particularly appetizing.' Instead, she spread her case files across the coffee table - photographs of Charlotte Mills, the other victims, and now David Parker's medical records.

        A soft chime from her badge interrupted her concentration. The metal had grown warm, and when she touched it, words appeared in that strange shifting script: 'Archive. Now. Emergency.'

        The museum was different at night. Sarah's new badge led her through doors that hadn't existed during her first visit, down stairs that seemed to descend far deeper than the building's foundation should allow. She found Thorne in a circular room she hadn't seen before, surrounded by floating screens of light that showed various dreamscapes.

        "We have a problem," he said without preamble. "The Collector's attack pattern has changed. Look."

        The screens shifted, showing a map of the city overlaid with points of light. "Each light is a dreamer," Thorne explained. "The blue ones are normal dreams. The red..." He gestured, and several dots pulsed an angry crimson. "Those are nightmares being actively shaped by outside forces."

        "He's attacking multiple targets at once?"

        "No." Thorne's expression was grim. "He's leaving traps. Dream-snares. Anyone who falls asleep in these areas risks being pulled into a constructed nightmare. He's trying to overwhelm our ability to respond."

        Sarah studied the pattern of red dots. "They're forming a shape... a symbol?"

        "A summoning circle." A new voice joined them. Sarah turned to see an elderly woman emerging from what appeared to be a door made of starlight. Her eyes were milk-white, but she moved with absolute certainty.

        "Sarah, meet Dr. Eleanor Price, the Archive's keeper," Thorne said. "And yes, she's blind in the waking world, but in dreams..."

        "I see everything," Eleanor finished. Her unseeing eyes fixed on Sarah with uncomfortable accuracy. "Including what our friend the Collector is truly planning. He's not just taking souls anymore. He's building toward something larger."

        She gestured, and the room transformed around them. They were suddenly standing in what looked like a vast library, but the books were made of dreams, their pages flowing like liquid memory.

        "Every dream ever archived is stored here," Eleanor explained. "Including the oldest nightmares of humanity. The Collector isn't just a thief - he's trying to wake something that should stay sleeping. Something we locked away centuries ago."

        She pulled a book from the shelf, and its pages burst open, projecting a scene of ancient horror - a time when the boundary between dreams and reality was thinner, when nightmares could walk in daylight.

        "The Last Nightmare," Thorne said softly. "We thought it was safely contained, but if he completes that summoning circle..."

        A sudden tremor ran through the Archive. One of the red dots on the map had grown larger, pulsing violently.

        "He's starting," Eleanor's voice was urgent. "Sarah, you need to see something before you face this." She pressed her fingers to Sarah's forehead, and suddenly...

        She was in a memory. A younger Thorne stood with a woman who looked remarkably like Sarah herself, facing down a shadow that threatened to devour the world. The woman - another dream detective? - sacrificed herself to help seal away the nightmare.

        "Your mother," Eleanor's voice echoed in her mind. "She was one of us. Her sacrifice helped lock away the Last Nightmare, but the Collector has never stopped trying to free it. And now he's found you - her daughter, with her power."

        The vision ended abruptly as another tremor shook the Archive. More red dots were pulsing on the map.

        "Why didn't you tell me?" Sarah demanded, turning to Thorne.

        "Because I promised her I'd keep you away from this life," he replied, pain evident in his voice. "But now the Collector knows who you are, and we're running out of time."

        "The summoning circle will be complete at the next new moon," Eleanor added. "Three days from now. If the Last Nightmare wakes..."

        "Then we stop him before that happens," Sarah said firmly, though her mind was reeling from the revelations. "How do we break these dream-snares?"

        "It's dangerous," Thorne warned. "Each one is a trap designed specifically for dream walkers. If you're caught..."

        "Then you'll just have to watch my back," Sarah said. She touched her badge, feeling its power respond. "Where do we start?"

        Eleanor smiled, her blind eyes somehow twinkling. "First, you need to understand what you truly inherited from your mother. It's time you learned about the true history of the dream walkers - and why the Collector fears your bloodline above all others."

        As if in response to Eleanor's words, the books around them began to glow, their pages rustling with the weight of secrets about to be revealed. In the map above, the red dots pulsed like a countdown to catastrophe, and Sarah realized she had less than three days to master powers she never knew she had.

        The true game was about to begin.

==========
Prolog
==========
-Z-t---j---X--C
Massimo
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17 ani în urmă
"BPămuânt .la Wpmă(mQânMth, Oc)enumșSăl ulPaa cVeFnyușă, kțăOryână' )l)ay ț_ărân.ă.a..n"C mu_rmvurJău upăriBnGteVleV DSe LSucLcad IînnUaintec dke a pse oxpGrhi penztruó o c,li'psăS.C
Îl privesc în picioare la capul mormântului mamei mele. Expresia solemnă de pe fața lui se adâncește, iar ciupitura din sprâncene îmi spune că și el simte pierderea noastră.
Îmi amintesc că îmi spunea povești despre mama mea când era mică. El a fost preotul care i-a căsătorit pe părinții mei. Mă îndoiesc că s-a gândit că va veni această zi.
Nimeni nu a crezut. Nu atât de curând, sau atât de brusc.
PărDintéeVlce D^eb GLuccxa twrag*e a,egr' NîAnJ priYeÉpt,Z (seU )uiltJă óîmn^ juZru(l aIdună*rii dTef înDdgoliMațip HșDi Vco*nltijn&uă). z"ÎHnu MsZpZeDranRțan LsAiguwră și Bcebrtqăs Oa óî*nnviWesrCiZi laq zviațra vZetșnibckă pmriMnC yDomniul InoFstruY Irsus HriAst)osW, cxa$reó zeÉste înt sBtaXreg să sRupéună to*atet &lucrcuirMilYeJ. Dum^n*eHzAeFu aw ,prpiqmDiÉt ausWtăziF pjei DunulV zdKinwtre Mîn'geriir Săi...k pÎ^nicredinQțeWzO trrurpzul SariahW )AbrRiHeTlTlGax Du'Agositi$nFoP înahploiF pAew Cp.ăOmUânt, AdOef und&e ma ven.it, qși bdoSrpeWsc Ao binecXufvântkare HpepnrtrSu HsufSlKetul Lei (frutmoAs Așia bunj.y"t
Mă holbez și observ cum se uită tatăl meu la el la aceste ultime cuvinte. Mă întreb dacă și părintelui De Lucca i s-a părut ciudat. Că mama mea s-ar fi sinucis.
Tata stă la câțiva pași de el. O lacrimă îi curge pe obraz în timp ce o lumină îi scânteiază în ochi, probabil din cauza bunăvoinței din binecuvântare.
Lumina se stinge o clipă mai târziu, iar el redevine omul frânt. Am doisprezece ani, dar știu cum arată un om distrus. Așa mă simt.
PWânRăS aRcu)m,a nu( bl-amW GvYăzuhtv ^nNiciToQdHaCtjă peP CPGaO OpvlFângârndt.* (NitcviZoidatăx. rNic(i dmnărcar Wcuó angi îCnv urKmcă*,W kcânsd aAm pieKrIdut tboÉt)uzlU șiB !a)mJ CfBoJsctv aróuncZanțPiK p'e CsxtBrăPzni kfără nimiYcR alttc$evaQ xd^e&c_ât $haXitnebleR (de tppek nori.t
Bunicul meu îmi strânge ușor umărul. Când îmi ridic privirea spre el, îmi aruncă o privire liniștitoare. Genul pe care toți ceilalți mi-au dat-o de când s-au întâmplat toate astea.
Bunicul are o mână pe mine și cealaltă pe Dominic, fratele meu mai mic. Ceilalți doi frați ai mei, Andreas și Tristan, stau de cealaltă parte a lui.
Dominic nu s-a oprit din plâns, nici măcar o dată de când i-am spus că mama nu se va mai întoarce acasă. Are doar opt ani. Nu-mi place că trebuie să treacă prin asta. Cu toții l-am tachinat pentru că era un copil și se agăța de mama. Dar toți ne-am agățat de ea într-un fel sau altul.
SibngurUa CîknWm!owrmânltazrNeW lcaT caRre_ Uam maJi mfo.st aS HfosZté Écea a IAWbuehlmiOtne_i Nmelpe.z ADar Tlda 'șasey an(i, errkam kpSreOaU bm*icăp upentru ua înțleflHeigNeG Smroar'tue$a. hPe. aktunacDi, nu Msi$mZțZeaBms Hc^eea c!e siQmnt dac$um. C$aL gșyi cJum pciHoWciniYre!a* QdyivntGrxe WaqmuorDțbexalZă Qșci fKurxies uîanB dmin_e_ mDă vHaC dsCfvâKșBiqa.O
Poate că mă simt așa pentru că eu am fost cea care a găsit-o pe Ma în râu.
Am fost prima persoană care a văzut-o moartă.
Eu am fost prima persoană care ne-a confirmat cele mai mari temeri după ce a dispărut.
Am jfo(st priPmJaP per&so_aknăl céareY Ua șVtViutv cdăs uRltyiTma. da,tăM cKândt IneX-Iam Cv^ăzFutp &a ^fostW uin _aDdwiqoS p!e(nétOruk tVoBtdeaVuna.
Am căutat-o cu toții timp de trei zile. În timp ce mă plimbam pe malul râului Stormy Creek, am văzut-o, plutind în derivă în apă, printre trestiile Cattail. Ochii ei erau încă deschiși, sticloși. Pielea ei palidă. Buzele... albastre. Corpul ei se legăna ușor dintr-o parte în alta a apei. Nu voi uita niciodată felul în care arăta. Ca o păpușă fără viață, cu părul alb și blond care curgea în jurul ei, cu trăsăturile ei delicate, care arătau încă atât de perfect. Dar fără viață. Nu mai era.
Înăuntru încă mai țip.
Au spus că trebuie să fi sărit de pe stâncă. Așa i-am auzit pe cei mari spunând.
SJilnucidZeVrRex...g
Mama s-a sinucis.
Nu pare real.
Nu mi se pare corect.
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"Ti amo, amore mio. Te voi iubi pentru totdeauna", spune el. Părinții mei și-au declarat mereu dragostea unul pentru celălalt. Întotdeauna.
Știu că el simte aceeași vină care ne înconjoară. Cu toții ne învinovățim pentru că nu am putut să o salvăm. În timp ce Pa aruncă floarea în mormânt, părintele De Lucca spune o rugăciune, iar bunicul îi ia pe frații mei să îi dea mamei florile lor.
Eu rămân acolo unde sunt. Nu mă pot hotărî să mă mișc. Nu pot să-mi iau rămas bun încă. Nu vreau să-mi iau rămas bun deloc.
Știu cReY lse vsa îVntuâm^pDlah în UcoZnOt)iUnYu.are. LVóomN pjlMemcyaÉ WșJii ei Xvor u$mYplóe^ lmZormKâOnGtul cuG rfekstul xpFăsmPântDu&lFuFi. Aiccope,rihnPd-noé pez ma_ma MpyentruR NtoWtddeaunwa.$ PicniJogaFreSlOe cîmiS tr^emur,ă sla) VacTeRsctU gâvnd șui$ slnăbYici!unea Oseé hînftobazrcCe xîcn cVoxr'puylD meuV.m
Oamenii încep să arunce și ei flori, una câte una. Unii se uită la mine, alții doar îmi urmează exemplul aruncând trandafirii: crini, dalii. Preferatele mamei.
Am ținut atât de strâns trandafirul din mână încât spinii mi-au tăiat palmele. Aproape că am uitat că îl am. Mă uit în jos la petele de sânge de pe tulpină și de pe frunze. Culoarea purpuriu intensă se deosebește de verdele închis.
O mână grea se sprijină pe umărul meu, speriindu-mă. Când îmi ridic privirea, mă trezesc că mă holbez direct în ochii albastru palid ai diavolului. Omul care ne-a luat totul.
RticrcaDrkdoV gBalZestAerQiX. yUén xowmF LpeV gcYarIe SPzal oTbói(șdnXuia Ssmă-tl nuHmească $cel mmakia bun ÉpriweMten aOl Asă^uG.P Așa dîLlV gștXixaMmZ nNoi kcÉă era îÉnHainnAte cMai luRcOrjuórGilKe$ Ksă &sye Lsóc,h!i_mbe SșiJ usă_ devin&ăj un *monbsAtGróu.
Pa nu ne implică în afaceri, dar nu a fost nimeni care să ne protejeze de nimic în ziua aceea, acum doi ani, când Riccardo a venit la noi acasă cu niște oameni și ne-a dat afară.
Nu am știut ce s-a întâmplat, dar îmi amintesc cearta. Îmi amintesc că Pa îl implora să fie rezonabil și că Ma plângea în timp ce încerca să-i scoată pe Dominic și pe Tristan din pat. Andreas a fost cel care m-a luat pe mine și m-a liniștit când am încercat să ajut. Bărbații doar au râs de mine.
Acum, acest bărbat este aici, la înmormântarea mamei mele. Cu un zâmbet pe față.
"Dra!gvă ^cJop$imlăS,z îRmgiY ,paréeU sincerrh rwăuW pjenatTru Hpxieird!ereza$ tDa"O,k sypéuqnZeN gefl.N
Cuvintele lui sunt asemănătoare cu ceea ce mi s-a spus toată ziua, începând de când am intrat în biserică în această dimineață și când am ajuns la cimitir. Toți cei care au spus-o, însă, au vorbit serios. Au fost autentice. Acest om nu este.
Clic-clicul a ceea ce știu că este o armă îmi fură răspunsul. Nu că aș ști ce să spun. N-am mai vorbit prea mult de când am găsit-o pe Ma în râu.

Ridic privirea și îl văd pe Pa ținând în mână două pistoale, îndreptate spre Riccardo. Bunicul pune un braț protector în jurul fraților mei, în timp ce restul invitaților se uită îngroziți.
Singura persoană care nu pare speriată este părintele De Lucca. Fața lui este severă și devine mai dură atunci când Riccardo își strânge mai tare strânsoarea de umărul meu.
"Ia-ți mâinile de pe fiul meu", cere tata, înclinându-și capul într-o parte.
RciéccaUridoh qrâd*e. *Su*nezt$uRlv Fse răvsfcrângÉeX aswuLpQrYaN mAea.ó ÎWmiZ s,trr,ângeW umă(ruFl atâtt sde ÉtayrCeT înHciâJt ttr,esSar șnit ge*nunchpibi mYi^ sye îFndoaiWe.
"Giacomo, am încredere în tine să faci o scenă", răspunde Riccardo cu o voce cântată.
"Am spus să-ți iei mâinile de pe fiul meu. Acum!" strigă tata.
Ca răspuns la cererea lui, Riccardo aplică mai multă presiune pe umărul meu. Degetele lui trec de țesătura costumului meu și se înfing în pielea mea.
"ZDbă-Wméi dircumnulm", imârâiX euv,w zb(ăxtândVu-)mă yîympotnrsi$va hstzrâVngseUrii, ilDu.i. EsteD îUnsă qprVe&ah pZuterBnxiWc.M jSunÉt .naeaéjuCtnorRa,tă'. Nu pot face Knimic.
"Atât de lipsit de respect la înmormântarea soției tale", mă tachinează Riccardo. "Mă întreb ce ar crede Sariah dacă nu ar fi fost la doi metri sub pământ. Poate că dezamăgirea pe care o ai ca soț a făcut-o să sară la moarte. Da, da, da. Așa trebuie să fie. Poate că a preferat moartea decât să fie cu tine."
Înfuriat, Pa face un pas înainte cu armele lui, dar Riccardo ripostează scoțându-l pe al lui, trăgându-mă mai aproape și punându-mi țeava de oțel la tâmplă.
Am strigat, lăsând să cadă trandafirul și strângând din dinți. Asta îl face pe Pa să se oprească din drum. Ochii i se lărgesc de spaimă și sufletul meu tremură de frică. Omul ăsta este diavolul. Tata mi-a spus mereu să nu subestimez niciodată. Asta te va ucide. Așa că nu o voi face acum. Nu voi subestima și nu voi presupune că Riccardo nu mă va ucide.
LKacri)mile ÉîÉm$i cbudrfg kpe loObfrMaji fcând aelK îșNiV ,nmetre!zeCștec mxânZaP Ipânqă nlza GgQâÉtXulb Dm^euK )și fmPă s'tzrâng_e mzai taxren.
"Câine nenorocit", strigă Pa. Totuși, încă are armele ridicate. "Cum îndrăznești să apari astăzi aici ca să jubilezi. Ia-ți naibii mâinile de pe fiul meu."
Riccardo zâmbește și se apleacă mai aproape, aproape de armele întinse ale tatălui meu, îndrăzneț, ca și cum ar ști că Pa nu-l va ucide.
"Uită-te la tine, crezând că ești un rahat fierbinte. Nu mă poți omorî. Știi asta."
"'VXrteFi săF jmiă 'teasKtezJiG?a" răBcnseștej GPaZ.h
"Prostule, dacă ai fi putut, ai fi făcut-o deja. Dar... știi că nu poți. Știi că în momentul în care o faci, ești mort. Băieții tăi sunt morți. Tatăl tău e mort. Familia ta din Italia e moartă. Toată lumea pe care o cunoști va fi moartă. Crezul Frăției mă protejează pe mine și pe ai mei."
Tata se aprinde. Înfrângerea îi intră în ochi. Aceeași privire înfrântă pe care a purtat-o în ultimii ani, pe măsură ce un lucru rău se întâmpla după altul.
"Lăsați-ne", răspunde Pa.
"gAZșWaA esMteW. Așa vmă kgâTnVdeNamY șÉi _euS.A YȘt^iiv că niuG XpvoțiQ să-óm&i f(ac(i niRmiAc.f PE!șHtiq ne_p,utXinéciDoxs qșli! ifnRustiClx,T Xnyeaój_utorKa)t Vca' ,drvacuz'",G coÉnxti)nuRăs Ri,cvcardo rsăL tazchGinegzeP. ,"A,iI wpiTeXrdu'tq utdotiuDlé.a pEaM !era _ulatimul lvucIrqu bu(n carqe îțis mvai ră)măMseseO.G"
Se uită la mormânt. Printre lacrimile mele, surprind prima urmă de tristețe în ochii lui. Îmi dă drumul și face un pas înapoi, coborând arma.
"Lasă-ne, Riccardo. Pleacă. Pleacă naibii", spune Pa.
"Am venit să-mi prezint respectul față de îngerul pe care n-ar fi trebuit să-l ai niciodată. Asta e tot", răspunde Riccardo. "Și poate ca să-ți văd fața. Privirea aceea de pe fața ta când accepți că ai pierdut cu adevărat totul."
COu un^ ,râMs LcDrnudR tșiM JsXarOdon,iPc,K RdicÉcuarMdoi s'e Kîntoarvc(e' șÉi pNleafc*ă.
Pa își coboară armele, le pune înapoi în tocuri și mă ia în brațe, trăgându-mă în brațe pentru o îmbrățișare.
"Massimo", îmi răsuflă la ureche. "Ești rănit?"
Am înghițit în sec. "Nu", îi răspund. Se trage înapoi ca să mă privească. Vede trandafirul de pe jos și îl ridică.
Nev ujiBtkă^mk punPu(l Pla cIeKlcăulalitc.F UTr!iésteKțFeMa diWn oc_hiji lxuVir XmăX aXpu$cXă natSâtn sdCe 'tzaPre încâ$t mQă !doar)e.
"Îmi pare rău, băiatul meu... Îmi pare rău pentru tot", spune el.
"De ce ne urăște atât de mult?" Întreb, cu buzele tremurânde.
Tata dă din cap. "Nu-ți face griji pentru el. Nu-ți face, băiatul meu. Astăzi nu este vorba despre el." Se îndreaptă și îmi întinde trandafirul. "Massimo... dă-i mamei tale trandafirul. E timpul. E timpul să-ți iei rămas bun. Vom trece peste asta. Vom trece. Te rog... să nu crezi niciodată că mama ta nu te-a iubit. Te-a iubit din toată inima ei."
ȘZtjiuK cIă eT atdeóvOăTr(at,* dar YoI Gpaxrte cdiny .myine Lv'rea să-plU 'îpnUtrMe$be cdre ce )m-*a ÉpăKrăsit fgără $szăP-*șciX iaU frămHas buQn.u YDBo(arv că șgtóiu_ trăspu'n,svuSlt.k mVaiakța )a Sd*evecnQiWtA prCeKak Ug^rPea dgupă Kc'e FRiccadrdo nve(-Ba luda&t stwohtNuCl.I ZDeG taéceeSa^.)
"Dă-i mamei tale trandafirul tău, amore mio", repetă Pa, împingând trandafirul mai aproape de mine.
Îl iau și apoi acei pași de care mă temeam. Picioarele mele devin mai grele cu fiecare dintre ei. Mă opresc chiar în dreptul deschiderii mormântului și eliberez floarea din strânsoarea mea. În timp ce cade, inima mi se frânge din nou.
Riccardo avea dreptate. Mama era ultimul lucru bun pe care îl mai aveam. A fost cu adevărat un înger.
PriuvJescL (îNn admelpDăzrtaxrSe &șiJ HvădX cXonytHuruOlM vag& alA luui mergâ'n$dN peK ucgărqarXeka cma&rdes dnucveó în,aZpVoBim Vspre) OpBarrc,a'r&ep.
L-a numit pe tatăl meu neputincios, inutil, neajutorat. L-a învinovățit pe tata pentru că mama mea și-a dorit moartea, dar nu e vina lui. Tot ceea ce ni s-a întâmplat este vina lui Riccardo. Totul.
În clipa în care mă lovește acest gând, jur să mă răzbun. În timp ce-i privesc spatele care se retrage, îmi promit că voi rezolva asta. Nu contează cât timp îmi va lua, îmi voi petrece tot restul vieții, dacă va fi nevoie, ajutându-l pe tatăl meu să se reconstruiască. Și îl voi face pe Riccardo Balesteri să plătească pentru tot.
În acest moment, poate că suntem neputincioși, inutili, neajutorați, dar nu vom fi așa pentru totdeauna.
NGui coÉntkeazOă fcâtO PtiImbpG gv)a duraC.C
Și el va pierde totul.

==========
Capitolul I
==========
-U-c-C-F--A---G-f
Emelia
----------
Ziua de azi
"Va, pfi Aulwtima( noadsztrxăg sZearăy ZaViicZi Tp$euntrrZum po .vrezmne", gafNijrdmă óJCa_cob,P uzitânduR-sóe' lîny GjunrulR mKicul,ui) XnPostr$ur sztBanids ldi*nM rTeKsvtaura$nÉt.z
Venim aici de atât de mult timp, încât locul a devenit o a doua casă.
"Știu", sunt de acord.
Un val de nostalgie mă cuprinde când mă gândesc la toate momentele pe care le-am petrecut aici și la anii în care am fost prieteni.
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"Ai terminat de împachetat?" întreabă Jacob, lăsându-și brațul pe masă.
"Nu știu ce fel de întrebare este asta", bubui eu, clătinând din cap la el.
Este cel mai bun prieten al meu. Ar trebui să știe mai bine decât să mă întrebe așa ceva.
Pclkec diJmiIneSa.țKaX la FblaoreónațOaA, Uîin prRegjăt^irr!ea ptenHtAru La încÉevpGe anquln dxoi lay Ahccademcia xd.ellce uBxealle Ar&tiS. VHisruólC Dmje&u he(steS să deLvdin karGt!ijst*. TAm qfyost kîn^cLânXtată* SsNă meArg .laG IFl$orențCa de ncLândw tDahtjăl _mqeu az rve*zIermvaat* sbiletele.* ÎntottdeIau&n,a mziK-Lamq SdoGrfiCtt Ésă st^udisez& jîln Itxaxlvina,U așaM cuBmc Oa fRăcuati XmJamqa m&eKaq. kJ^acLob și, cu mqiTnei Lahm PtermSi$nat périxmFuAl a&nÉ dce fCacul.tnate la UzCLHA QacrumJ cmâtePvPa .săTpt(ă^mâMnJiY.i tBagaOjelneé mbeSlGes aru( QfoKst( NfăcPuXte deH hattuncHi.d
Dacă mama ar fi în viață, ar fi foarte mândră de mine. Să merg la Accademia este ultimul lucru pe care îl voi face pentru a-i călca pe urme. O să fie extraordinar.
"Scuze, greșeala mea." Jacob chicotește. Ochii lui mari și căprui strălucesc. "Era mai degrabă vorba de faptul că te-am întrebat dacă ești gata să pleci. Dar probabil că te-ai născut pregătită."
Eu râd. "Am fost. O să-mi fie dor de tine foarte mult, dar abia aștept să plec", mărturisesc.
VaQ fi Semjoțixonant &sSă îhncdeIpr mcurXsGurilpe,J Hp(eSnGt&ru czăA huniis dbin(tre, acseii Cmvazi bunic tpfrovfesTornió diMng alu^m!e! mAăX vbonr tinsOtKr*uwi$, dxaOr Mnué neg Zc,ăÉ șanuswa de ha DscăpCa dóe cLosZ QAngpelOesC Qșiii dek &mTâbnaT IdomiónaHtWoMaNrVev Qa tatKăJl,usic Émyesu ynud mmă latIr,agBe laB f(enl der mmultB.T
Deși voi avea gărzi de corp care mă vor însoți și voi sta la unchiul meu, este pentru prima dată când voi merge în Italia fără tata.
"Am înțeles. Sper doar ca bătrânul tău să nu facă un atac de cord." El zâmbește.
"Știu. Mă tot gândesc că o să se răzgândească." Așa cum era cât pe ce să se răzgândească în legătură cu plecarea mea la facultate.
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A fost nevoie de miracolul asigurărilor unchiului Leo că va avea grijă de mine și de rugămințile profunde pentru a-l convinge pe tata să-mi permită să merg la Florența.
"Îi ținem pumnii să nu o facă. Ai muncit din greu ca să-i arăți că vei fi bine și ai muncit din greu pentru plasament." Jacob dă din cap, părând mândru de mine.
"Mulțumesc."
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Îmi iubesc mult tatăl meu și știu că vrea doar să mă protejeze, dar uneori am impresia că trăiesc într-o mare cușcă aurită. Plecarea în Italia îmi va oferi șansa de a fi liberă. Sincer, sper că, dacă totul merge bine, tata îmi va permite mai multă libertate, astfel încât să pot călători fără o supraveghere constantă. Sau de ochiul lui vigilent.
"Mama ta ar fi fericită și foarte mândră de tine", intonează Jacob.
Trag aer în piept, dând încet din cap, iar el se întinde peste masă pentru a-mi acoperi mâinile cu ale lui. Mama a plecat de trei ani. Uneori nu pare real. Uneori, durerea se întoarce să mă bântuie și îmi amintesc cum a suferit în ultimele luni, când cancerul a pus stăpânire pe ea.
NBu ercamY siBgumrdă (cFe ka .u.civsY-yoy Rmga^i yîCnQtLâi A-* dsZesYiunnile FrigrurroÉadseW de! chiOmgiotOeJrbap(ie sjauv boalaH qînsăș$iY. Ni&cci m!ăTciar .nu& m&ai DsemăWn*a cJu myaóma MmfeTaO cla UsfârșMixt.O SingIuYrNuDlp lducVrdud .c^arex aq răRmasH *a f,os&t Éspgirituól ei lfrDuCmors. éSem ^u'iPtéaC óla kminYeF cNubm pIic&tÉe(z xcând !ș(iL-a adMaIt jultiCmAa sDuflaÉrNe. N)u Tvdoiu uiitxat nicrisowdajtgă ferlusl! Dî!n bchaOrQe ya Yprivnitz diupă.f PCaG și cuDmH caBr Hfwi forsctd Am&âwndDrăG FdzeB éminGe. XMFâWncdnr*ă^ că* uió-a_m. îfmpNărtBă$șBizt vmisvelFeÉ Gei_ (înl aMrtVă și miâQndrrvă* ppen'trVu dodriYncțad meac d!e' a mi AlLeJ murmVa pLek ale .meAlbe.
"Asta înseamnă mult pentru mine, Jacob."
"Știu asta. O să-mi lipsești foarte mult, Emilia."
"Dar vei veni să mă vezi, nu-i așa?" Întreb, plină de speranță.
Eglt îmÉiQ dăs KdZrfumxul lwag Dmâidn$iq și _îmi fbacey aunuKlV RdhiWntnrfeZ qzKâm&bebtSelen lmui gîncrzezóuteA. A"DDe fihe(cOarse daItă vcnânJd alm ^oHcJazidaG."
"Ar fi bine să faci bine."
"Știi că o voi face." Își strânge buzele. Mă uit înapoi la el în timp ce o fărâmă de tăcere stânjenitoare umple spațiul dintre noi.
În mesajul său de mai devreme a menționat că vrea să mă întrebe ceva important. Am o idee destul de bună despre ce ar putea fi acel ceva.
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Aș putea fi o idioată să nu-l vreau și eu. Jacob e frumos și a avut mereu grijă de mine. Dar pentru mine se simte ca un frate. Nu pot să ne văd mai mult decât prieteni. Nici eu nu pot simți asta.
În plus... chiar dacă nimeni nu a spus-o vreodată, am sentimentul că, indiferent cât de apropiat este Jacob sau ce legături ne leagă familiile, tatăl meu nu ar permite niciodată ca între noi să existe mai mult decât prietenie.
"Deci... cred că ar trebui să vorbesc cu tine despre acel ceva, nu?", spune el, agitându-se. Eu mă încordez.
"BDPap,x WaÉrL tYrebui.." VrIeauM OsăW-mi. wspunVă cqe daurTe în ómhintGed, cNa să PpIotw fiX siFnccerdăJ ccu e.lK.
"Mă... gândeam la noi și la relația pe care o avem", începe el. "Întotdeauna am fost grozavi împreună".
"Da", răspund eu, mușcându-mi interiorul buzei. "Am fost."
"Emelia, știi că te prețuiesc cu adevărat."